


Little Miss Polar Bear

by MissLiveByThePen



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Complete, Crossdressing, Cute Kids, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, FACE Family, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fraud, Happy Ending, Human AU, Lies, Little Miss Sunshine AU, M/M, child beauty pageants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-12-18 01:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11863773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLiveByThePen/pseuds/MissLiveByThePen
Summary: If there was ever a moment that Arthur wondered how his seemingly normal life turned into an absolute mess, it was the moment he stood on an elevated stage, flipped off a woman wearing a ginormous wig, and snogged the fucking frog.





	1. Prince Alfred

**Author's Note:**

> First non-omegaverse story in a year. I'm rather proud of myself. So, you can thank my current obsession with Toddlers and Tiaras for this. I thought it would be adorable to imagine Arthur as a pageant dad and maybe throw in a little FACE family. 
> 
> Enjoy!

If there was ever a moment that Arthur wondered how his seemingly normal life turned into an absolute mess, it was the moment he stood on an elevated stage, flipped off a woman wearing a ginormous wig, and snogged the fucking frog. 

Okay, maybe he was getting a little ahead of himself. 

Before he found himself standing on that fateful stage, Arthur Kirkland was a single father to a rambunctious, but sweet four-year-old boy. Alfred had been blessed with his mother’s genes – bright blue eyes and normal eyebrows- and could melt the coldest of hearts with a wink and a smile. Together, they lived a relatively quiet life in a small, but cozy, house in the suburbs. 

Arthur worked at a publishing company doing a job he could barely tolerate, but he did it for his child. Being a musician – his real true love – didn’t always pay the bills. At least during the weekend Arthur could brush off his guitar, put in his piercings, and take his boy to Tonio’s. Arthur played at Tonio’s ‘Amateur Night’ so often that he was the only musician that was allowed a portion of the cover charge. 

It was Antonio – the fucking asshole – that started this entire mess. 

While preparing for the bar to open one night, Arthur and Antonio sat at one of the tables near the stage and watched their children dance across the platform. He always brought Alfred with him to this gig. Being a parent himself, Antonio was smart enough to realize that most of his employees benefitted from cheap and readily available childcare. Working at a bar overnight wasn’t the best occupation for finding a babysitter, either. 

Arthur was grateful. Alfred became close friends with Lovino, Antonio’s son, and he got the chance to play music. The only thing he wasn’t grateful for was the annoying French bartender, Francis Bonnefoy. In fact, the only good thing about Francis was his four-year-old son, Matthew. 

Sweet little Matthew was polite, friendly, and absolutely everything his father wasn’t. He got along well with Alfred and even managed to impress Arthur with his manners. If it weren’t illegal, he would have kidnapped the child from the poisonous clutches of the frog. Surely, Francis was going to ruin that child, like he ruined everything around him. 

But, anyway, back to the issue at hand. 

Antonio was the reason Arthur’s life unraveled. 

While watching Alfred, Matthew, and Lovino dance across the stage one night, the Spaniard leaned over to show him a picture on his cell phone. It was of Lovino with a crown on his head. Despite the grumpy expression in his eyes, he was clutching at the crown with a small smile on his face. “I entered him into one of those beauty pageants last month.”

“Oh, Tony, why would you do that to him?” Arthur was quick to judge. He’d seen the television show about the spoilt pageant girls and their overbearing parents. He didn’t expect Antonio to push his child into something like that. 

“It wasn’t bad, really.” The Spaniard argued as he flicked to the next picture. “We’re between sports right now and it’s something to get us out of the house.” He stopped on the picture of Lovino holding a wad of cash. “Plus, he won five hundred dollars for that title. Easiest money anyone has ever made. I used half of it to pay rent and the rest I let him blow on toys and candy.” 

“I don’t think five hundred dollars is worth my child’s dignity.” 

“Last weekend your son streaked through the bar during rehearsal.” 

“Point taken.”

It was almost like Arthur had a sixth sense for Francis’ bullshit. The moment the frog was near, his skin began to crawl. Sure enough, as the goosebumps rose on his arms, the Frenchman appeared at his elbow. 

“What are you two whispering about over here, hmm?”

Arthur gritted his teeth together as he ‘accidentally’ jolted his elbow back just enough to ram it into Francis’ hip. It knocked the Frenchman back a bit and the Englishman was rewarded with a soft gasp of surprise. “Oops,” he responded with a shallow, toothy grin, “I didn’t see you there, Francis. I’ll have to be more careful.” 

If Francis doubted his sincerity, he didn’t mention it. He gave Arthur a tight smile as he safely walked around the edge of the table to hover over Antonio’s shoulders. “Ahh! I knew Lovino would place high in the pageant, didn’t I tell you? Look at him! That smile must have won over the judges! However did you get him to behave long enough to go through a routine?”

“You talked him in to this?” Arthur’s snooty remark was ignored as a gushing Antonio turned to babble to his longtime friend. He rolled his eyes at the two, catching snippets of their conversation as he idly sipped his drink. It wasn’t alcoholic, but he wished it were. 

“Bribery, amigo! I bribed him with every single treat I could think of! It worked wonders for his attitude, really.” Antonio explained with a wide grin, handing Francis his phone to show him the numerous pictures he’d taken that day. “There weren’t many boys there for his division, so Lovino did not have much competition. I knew my little tomato would do wonderful!” 

“Of course he did, mon ami! He has his father’s good looks, no? Not to mention, that European charm!” Francis’ eyes cut across the table to stare at Arthur for a moment before he handed back the phone. “Not that Arthur would know. Everyone knows the British don’t have an ounce of charm in their body.” 

Arthur jumped to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. “I have more charm in my fucking pinky that you do in your entire body, Bonnefoy!” 

“Daddy! That’s a bad word,” Alfred supplied from the stage with big, blue eyes shining with disappointment. 

Arthur wasn’t even aware his four-year-old knew what disappointment was, but it was certainly clear across his face. The man groaned to himself as he attempted to give his son a sweet smile. (Needless to say, it came off a little tense and strained.) “Alfred, dearheart, Daddy is sorry. He won’t say those words again.” He ignored the Frenchman’s snickers in favor of accidentally jostling the table into his side. Obviously it didn’t hurt Francis, but it made Arthur feel better. 

Francis had that look in his eyes that Arthur didn’t trust. He especially didn’t trust it when directed towards his son. “Mathieu competes in these beauty competitions, too. I don’t let him compete in the fully glitz pageants, because I do not agree with putting children in make-up and fake teeth all for the sake of a prize. He’s always placed very high in the natural beauty competitions around here. You know,” the Frenchman glanced at Alfred again, “your son is a very handsome little boy with a lot of personality. He’d do well in these competitions, too.” 

“Francis is right, Arthur, it’s really a great opportunity for the boys. Lovino is far more confident with speaking and he’s becoming more outgoing.” The Spaniard gave his son a proud smile as the little one attempted a headstand. “Not to mention, the bigger competitions have scholarship opportunities for them. Imagine how much easier our lives would be if we didn’t have to worry about paying for their tuition.”

Arthur wanted to point out that they could all move back to Europe for free tuition, but he knew it was a moot point. Scholarships, monetary prizes, hell, even the idea of getting Alfred involved in something that wasn’t a violent sport was appealing. Despite his best efforts, Alfred was never going to be a football – he still refused to call it soccer - star. (Poor boy just didn’t have the coordination and Arthur wasn’t going to let his four-year-old play a sport that was sending men into early on-set Alzheimer’s.) It would be something to look into. “When’s the next competition, if you don’t mind me asking?” 

While Antonio was searching on his phone, Arthur watched his son. He flounced around the stage like he was meant to be there. It wasn’t surprising; his mother had been a struggling actress when they met. A few too many drinks at a club and nine months later, they found themselves parents. Her leaving them had been hard, but necessary. She hadn’t been prepared for the family lifestyle. She hadn’t been mature enough to toss away her dreams. Arthur wished her the best, but made her promise to never return. Alfred didn’t need anyone in his life that just gave up on him. 

“Arthur,” Antonio interrupted his thoughts as he offered up a picture of a flyer on his phone, “the next competition is only two weeks away. You’re in the heart of pageant season right now, so you’ll be able to find competitions all across the state. It just depends on what kind you want to enter him in.”

It was all a little overwhelming. Arthur knew almost nothing about this pageant world, but here he was considering it. He had to be a bit mental, right? “There are different types?”

“Oui,” Francis chirped as he held up two fingers. “Two divisions that really matter, anyway. Full glitz, which is usually more expensive and tedious, and the natural competitions, which is a lot more laid back and fun. I would suggest start with the natural and then see if he likes it. No need in buying a bunch of expensive things if he hates it.” 

Fuck, the frog gave good advice and now Arthur would have to thank him. The words tasted foreign on his tongue, so he just sent a solemn nod in the man’s direction. “I’ll give it some more thought. I’ve got to prepare for the set before it’s too late. Just, uhh, send me that flyer, yeah?” 

As his phone buzzed with the sound of a received message, Arthur slipped to the back of the bar to prepare for his show. He thought he’d never look at the flyer again, even laughed at himself for thinking of it. Surely, Alfred would hate the idea. On a daily basis he refused to even wear clothes. There was no way his son would ever agree to dress up for other people. He’d never agree to do it. 

(Two weeks later…)

Really, Arthur should have learned a long time ago to never say never. 

Not only had Alfred agreed to take part in a pageant with a Hollywood theme, he seemed excited about it. Every night he asked ‘how many days until the pageant’ or ‘can he be James Bond, please.’ It was shocking how involved his son was with the planning process. (It also warmed his heart a little that they were spending so much time together. Many afternoons Arthur found himself simply too tired to roughhouse with his rambunctious child. Now they had a calm, almost-relaxing outlet for them to focus on.)

When the day of the pageant finally arrived, Alfred was the first one up and ready. They didn’t live far from the hotel were the pageant would take place, so they dressed him in their bathroom. His hair was meticulously combed – even though that one strand refused to lie down – and his face scrubbed to the point of rawness before either male was pleased with the look.

Arthur fretted for days over the boy’s outfit before choosing a fairly simple look. He went with a pair of pressed khaki slacks and an off-white button-down shirt with a cerulean blue bow tie and suspenders. Honestly, he knew the suspenders made the outfit. It was all worth it, though, because his son was going to dazzle the judges in the beauty competition. 

He’d known that from the first moment Alfred stepped onto the makeshift stage in the hotel’s meeting room and flashed a big, toothy grin at the judges on the first row. It was a bit obvious his boy was unpolished. Arthur could hear another mother behind him whispering critiques every time Alfred missed his cue or held his arms in the wrong position. (He had to stop himself from punching the large woman, but his glare made her uncomfortable enough that she eventually moved to another seat.) Arthur wasn’t expecting Alfred to win anything, but he seemed like he enjoyed his moment in the spotlight. 

If – at any point – Alfred had decided he hated it, the Englishman would have removed them both from the situation. It wasn’t difficult to see the young boy enjoyed it because the moment his division was over, he skipped to Arthur’s side and practically jumped into his arms. He was full of ‘can I do it again’ and ‘how did I do, Daddy?’

Honestly, Arthur had no idea how his son did. He didn’t know what the judges were looking for – despite Antonio’s best efforts, this entire pageant world seemed about as clear as mud – or even if his son did anything right. He certainly wasn’t going to tell Alfred that, though. He swung the boy on his hip and pressed a sweet kiss to his forehead. “You did wonderful, love! The judges smiled the entire time you were up there. Daddy is so proud of you!”

Alfred’s beaming smile just about melted Arthur’s heart. Really, who wouldn’t love such an awesome kid? While the rest of the competition continued, his little boy napped against his chest. He needed to be well rested for his next appearance on stage. Most competitions – according to Antonio – were divided into two parts: beauty and theme wear. Theme wear had to go along with the team of the pageant. 

Since the theme was Hollywood, Alfred begged to go as James Bond. Really, Arthur was to blame for that one. He read the books to the boy – or at least told him a condensed tale about the famed spy – over the past year. He was just glad his son seemed to adore bedtime stories. Maybe it would mean a healthy appetite for reading, as he grew older. 

When his age division -4 to 6 year olds- was called up, Arthur gently tickled his sleeping child awake until he had a laughing mini-James Bond. They’d traded the khakis for a more formal set of black slacks with a mini-tux jacket. Arthur found both at a nearby thrift store for only a few dollars and his talent for embroidery made the small details pop. He adjusted Alfred’s bow tie and pressed a set of sunglasses against his nose before nudging him towards the lineup. 

Once more, he took his spot a few rows behind the judges to watch as Alfred strutted across the stage. Arthur was okay with developing choreography. As a musician, he needed to know how to move across the stage. He didn’t know very many technical terms for choreography, but he thought he managed to show his son enough unique moves to impress the panel. As the original James Bond Theme sounded from the speakers, Arthur barely suppressed a grin as Alfred tumbled across the stage.

When they were practicing, Arthur tried to make his son walk onto the stage, but Alfred insisted that James Bond wouldn’t just walk across a stage. He’d taken one look at Arthur and did a cartwheel. He wasn’t very good at them. It looked more like a practiced fall than anything else, but it was cute and his son was having the time of his life. His routine was shaky at best, but each acrobatic stunt was punctured with a wide smile. By the time Alfred’s routine was over, he was out of breath and beaming. Arthur waited for him at the end of the row, clapping as his child skipped back to his side. 

“Did you see me, Daddy? I was the best James Bond.”

“The absolute best,” Arthur cooed, lifting Alfred back into his arms for a quick cuddle. Even if his son didn’t place today, he’d had the best day with his boy. He’d taken a boring Saturday and had a great time. With his son in his lap, the Englishman settled down in one of the uncomfortable chairs and created a nonsensical story about unicorns while they waited for the crowning. 

When time for crowning came, each group was called up by age, as it had been during the competition. Most were given some kind of minor title. According to Antonio, though, the real prizes were in the ‘Supreme’ titles. Alfred’s division had a lively group of boys, especially as crowning began. They squirmed on stage as the minor titles were given out, but nothing came for Alfred’s name. Even as they crowned the ‘King’ of the division, his son hadn’t been called. 

Those blue eyes dimmed a little once he realized he hadn’t been called, but he didn’t lose his smile. Arthur’s heart broke for his son, especially as he saw him attempt to smile through his disappointment. Well, he’d have to take the boy for ice cream later. That would soothe that hurt. When his division was dismissed, Alfred walked slowly to his father’s side, sniffling a little as he held his arms open. 

“It’s okay, lad.” Arthur soothed as he scooped him up. “It’s your first time. I think you did wonderful.”

“He did,” a young woman behind them interrupted with a soft laugh. She was blushing all the way to her hairline, but he appreciated the interruption if her words were true. “Your son pulled for a higher title. If they don’t get crowned in the first round, that means his scores were high enough for a supreme title.”

“Is that true, Daddy?”

Arthur knew Antonio had mentioned ‘pulling for a higher title’, but he didn’t have the slightest idea what it meant. He tickled his son’s belly, grinning as the laughter echoed around the room. “Maybe so? We’ll have to see, won’t we?” 

So, instead of leaving with their tails tucked between their legs, the duo sat there through the remainder of the crowning. After all the age divisions were called, the pageant director began calling the supreme titles. Arthur didn’t actually believe his son would get called, but sure enough they were watching another little boy crowned for ‘Most Handsome’ when Alfred’s number was called out. 

“Our winner for our Supreme Title Most Personality is number fifty, Alfred Kirkland!” 

Hearing his name made the little boy laugh happily. He jumped from his father’s lap and raced towards the stage where a bright red crown was placed atop his head. He was given a basket full of goodies -which he immediately dived into- and a small monetary reward of $100. Despite the crown being too big, Alfred bounded back to his father’s side to show off his hard earned goodies. After digging through the toys, he found a toy airplane that he adored and spent most of the ride home making noisy airplane sounds. 

Later that night - after two stories about airplanes - the two cuddled together in Alfred’s bed and soaked up the last few minutes before bedtime. The crown was placed haphazardly on the small desk near the window and the airplane rested on his nightstand. Arthur soothed his son’s hair back to ask him if he wanted to do another one. Alfred’s resounded ‘yes, please’ was all the answer he needed.  
That first victory was too sweet not to try over and over again. Unfortunately for the Kirkland family, the chase for the thrill would change their entire lives. 

In ways they could never even imagine.


	2. Supreme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur has a crazy idea and a lot of baggage.

“Alfred! No, love! You’re supposed to run the other way! That way!” Arthur’s smile became even more strained as the five-year-old managed to kick the ball into his own net. They were practicing for the upcoming tryouts for the youth football team, but it wasn’t looking promising for his son. It really wasn’t fair that his only child couldn’t play the very sport he adored so much. While Arthur wallowed in his misery, a sharp cry of ‘Daddy’ was his only warning before his son collided with his legs. 

“Did you see, Daddy? I kicked it into the net! Did I win?” 

However could he say ‘no’ to those big, blue eyes? Residing himself to the bleak-football-less-future, the proud Englishman knelt down to wipe a bit of dirt from Alfred’s face. “Not exactly, duck. Did you have fun?”

Golden strands bobbed energetically before someone walking behind them stole his boy’s attention. Normally, he would have turned around to see what distracted Alfred, but the nasally laugh gave the stranger away. 

“Ah! Bonjour mes amis!” 

Fucking Francis. Arthur’s nose wrinkled as his son scampered away to greet Matthew. It was only when he could feel the man’s body heat at his side that he turned to greet him. He could be nice for a while. It was a good day, after all. “Francis,” he greeted back, crossing his arms at his chest as he tried to ignore the stupid smile on the man’s face, “I didn’t expect to see you today. Wasn’t Matthew supposed to compete in a pageant today?” 

The Frenchman hummed as his blue eyes followed after their children. “Plans changed. He’s been on this pageant circuit for a while now. It didn’t seem very fun to keep putting him in the same pageants. It’s becoming a bit, ahh, redundant. Isn’t that why you’re here and not there, too?” 

Even though he loathed admitting it, Arthur agreed with the Frenchman. Over the past year, his son competed in all the pageants that accepted his age group. While it was fun, going back to the same pageants with the same themes only seemed to bore them. Alfred still loved getting on the stage, but he needed another challenge. “The closest pageant circuit is the next state over. I don’t know if that would be feasible with my job or the gig at Tonio’s.” After Antonio’s house band quit during a particularly rowdy Saturday night, Arthur was offered a permanent slot as a performer. (Which meant he got paid in addition to keeping a portion of the cover charges.) “I was hoping he’d developed a talent for football over the summer, but as you can see,” he watched helplessly as Alfred continued trying to pick up the football with his hands, “that hasn’t happened.” 

If he found Francis’ laughter comforting in that moment, he certainly wasn’t going to say a word. The Frenchman called out a soft suggestion in French, only to nudge Arthur when Matthew tried to help. It ended with both boys laughing as they chased the ball across the makeshift pitch. It really was a miracle that the two boys got along so well. They were like night and day. Where Alfred was loud, Matthew was quiet. Where Matthew was shy, Alfred was outgoing. Despite their differences, they meshed so well together. 

The same could not be said for their fathers. 

Their sons went to the same preschool and he’d seen the Frenchman there a few times. (He’d thought the man was pretty. He still does on most days, but he’d never admit it.) They’d never spoken to each other, but slyly flirted back and forth with their eyes. It was fun to have a little distraction after being alone for so long. No one would blame Arthur for wanting that kind of affection, especially not with a handsome man. So, one afternoon, he approached the man for a date. Francis was very agreeable and they went to a local café for their first date. 

Then their second. 

And a third. 

Everything seemed to be going great. The Frenchman even gave him a cute little nickname – scourcils. It was the nickname that would be their downfall. He had no idea what it meant, but after one afternoon searching on Google translate he found his answer. 

Eyebrows. 

The fucking frog was calling him eyebrows. His eyebrows had always been a sore subject because they were the object through which others teased him as a child. He’d blown up at the man and never wanted to speak to him again. 

He thought he would never see the frog again, but he was wrong. The anniversary of his ex-girlfriend’s departure came around. Even though he’d given her the ‘green light’ to leave, it was difficult dealing with those feelings of abandonment. She’d been one of the only serious relationships in his long history of failed relationships. (It was a long list, too. Spanning genders and ages that never failed to make his head cloudy with regret.)

With heavy thoughts of his ex-girlfriend, Arthur proceeded to get rip-roaring drunk at Tonio’s. He’d wanted one night where he didn’t have to worry about a toddler or a job that he hated. He got it, but he also ended up in the Frog’s bed. (The less angry portion of his brain remembered how sweet of a lover the frog could be. He’d been so receptive to all of Arthur’s touches.) It was a sore point between them because neither knew how to discuss the events that took place between them. Arthur felt it was better to just ignore it, while Francis wanted to fucking talk about it. 

No, just no. Arthur wasn’t going to divulge into their fucked up relationship. He was just fine being alone. At least he had his son to focus on. 

“Antonio mentioned you were looking into that circuit. It’s a big one, you know.” Francis shifted as he stared out across the field, not quite touching Arthur, but close enough for them to soak up each other’s body heat. “They ‘ave a ultimate grand supreme prize worth $15,000.” 

“What? You’re joking. No one gives $15,000 in a children’s beauty pageant.” 

The Frenchman rolled his eyes as he reached into his pocket for his phone. After a quick search, he pulled up the website page for the Little Mister and Miss Polar Bear pageant circuit. Arthur lazily read the first few paragraphs before he realized his attention had been grabbed. It was a ranking style pageant. Each child would compete in a number of smaller pageants throughout the year, but the children with the highest points would be invited to compete in a ‘championship’ round with a grand prize of $15,000. 

$15,000 would change their lives. He would put half away for Alfred’s future, but the rest would be invaluable in paying off debt. He could feel the excitement building up in the base of his spine. Alfred had done so well the last few months. There was no way he wouldn’t place high here. 

“My only concerns,” Francis mentioned, “is that it’s a full glitz pageant. Those are notoriously difficult on a child and wallet.” 

“The potential pay-off might be worth it.” It would strain their finances, but Arthur was positive he could make it work. He thumbed through the pictures on the website before tapping a tab that read ‘doubles’ in cute, pink writing. 

[Have a brother-sister pair that wants to compete? Little Mister and Miss Polar Bear is the only pageant in the United States that holds a competition for siblings!]

He was going to tap away when his eyes zoned in on the prize: $50,000. His heart actually stopped for a moment. That was an astronomical prize. Surely, it wasn’t real! No, the more he read, the more he realized it was real. It seemed that some big investors backed the Little Mister and Miss Polar Bear competition. 

Hmm, it only Alfred had a sister. 

He handed the phone back to Francis, “I’ll have to look into it. I don’t even know if Alfred would want to travel for such a pageant. He’s finicky about car trips.” 

“Motion sickness?” The Frenchman guessed, chuckling as he nodded towards his longhaired son. “Mathieu is the same way. I usually give him medicine to knock him out.”

“The medicine only hypes Alfred up.” Either way, the car rides were miserable. His son was queasy or hyperactive. There was no in-between with them. “Our children are best friends, but opposites in everyway.” 

Francis chuckled low in his throat as he pointed over to the duo as they played an impromptu game of leapfrog. “Almost like they were siblings, no?”

Siblings. 

Somewhere deep in Arthur’s greedy mind a light bulb flashed. Matthew and Alfred were very similar. Born only a few days apart with the same light hair and expressive eyes. They even looked the same! They could pass as siblings. With that long hair and soft face, Matthew could even pass as a girl. 

Fuck. They could enter the doubles category and win $50,000. 

“Francis, I have a proposition for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the lovely reviews! They're awesome.


	3. Grand Supreme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the competition is upon them, or will be, if Arthur can survive Francis.

Arthur’s plan was foolproof. 

Matthew – or Matilda as he would be known for a few weeks - would compete with Alfred on the little Mister and Miss Polar Bear circuit for the grand prize of $50,000. They would wear matching outfits. They would have a cute choreographed routine. They would smile and maintain perfect eye contact with the judges! By the end of it, they would be the ones holding that trophy and accepting the check for the prize money. 

Of course, he forgot one important element to this foolproof plan. 

Francis was worse than a fool. 

He was an idiot.

Don’t get him wrong; Arthur suspected that Francis would have some concerns about –essentially- committing fraud. He even suspected the Frenchman to disagree with his son being exploited. Turns out, his concern wasn’t any of that. No, the frog’s concern was Arthur’s lack of taste buds being passed down to his child. It’s not that he expected anything different from the moron. He knew Francis would want to tag along. What he didn’t expect was for the flamboyant man to insist he tag along as his husband. 

His husband. 

As in, Arthur would have to pretend that he liked the other man. He might even be required to touch him. For a few minutes, the Englishman contemplated nixing the whole project. He didn’t know if $50,000 was worth the humiliation of being fake-married to the frog. His skin crawled at the very thought!

The part of Arthur that remembered the massive debt lurking in his past and the growing expenses of raising a child alone reminded him that he needed this money. He needed it to make them comfortable. 

Which is why Arthur was currently attempting to look pleasant and ‘in-love’ as his ‘husband’ chatted with the white-haired woman at the hotel front desk about their sixth year anniversary. He really deserved some kind of academy award for not barfing as Francis reached out to tenderly touch his cheek. (If his cheeks turned red, it was from anger, not embarrassment or desire.) 

He was just happy the children weren’t there to correct the Frenchman. (They were currently playing near the fountain and probably getting water everywhere.) Alfred was fiercely protective of his father – which tickled him to no end, really – but it caused an issue when the little one insisted his Daddy wasn’t married. Arthur had no intentions of telling him about ‘white lies’ just yet. Good thing his son enjoyed playing a good game of ‘pretend’. (Of course, that meant Alfred wanted to be an elephant and violently protested when Arthur attempted to explain he couldn’t pretend to be an elephant.) 

“Isn’t that right, darling?”

Arthur blinked rapidly as he stared dumbly at the Frenchman and the hotel worker. He hadn’t been paying attention to a word they were saying. If that condescending smile was any indication, the damned frog knew it too. He grit his teeth before nodding his head and giving his most convincing smile to the man. “Yes,” he chirped with faux-happiness, moving forward to tuck himself into Francis’ side. “That’s right.” He dug his fingers into the space underneath his ribs until he heard a soft groan of pain. Only then was he managed a true smile. “Are we almost done checking in?”

“Of course,” Francis ground out, forcibly reaching back to retract his ‘husband’s’ hand. 

Arthur’s eyes were twinkling as he gave the woman a cheery wave before guiding Francis towards the elevator. A quick whistle had his son dragging Matthew towards them, too. (He may have learned that trick from a puppy-training book. He’d never admit it out loud, but he had to find something to curve his child’s behavior. He certainly didn’t need anyone judging him for it, fuck you very much.) Alfred was all smiles now, but he hadn’t been a few hours ago. 

His child had a severe case of motion sickness. It didn’t matter what type of vehicle or how long they were traveling, he always got sick. What made matters worse was the medicine to combat the motion sickness never failed to make him irritable. For the first thirty minutes of the ride, his darling little boy turned into an absolute little hellion. He whined and cried at every little transgression. Arthur knew it was miserable for him, so he couldn’t imagine how terrible it was for Francis. 

It was probably the only time Arthur ever felt bad for the frog. He even dared to apologize once Alfred settled down enough for a short nap. In a surprising turn of events, the Frenchman insisted that his Matthew ‘wasn’t always a little angel.’ Arthur doubted that. Throughout the entire fit his child pitched, Matthew only tried to distract him with toys or treats. He was an angel and a perfect complement to Alfred’s rambunctious personality.

“Daddy,” Alfred gushed out in one breath as he collided into Arthur’s legs, “Mattie and I want to have a sleepover, please?” 

“You’re already having a sleepover, love.” He answered as he lifted the boy into his arms. “Matthew and his Papa are staying in our room this weekend.” To his surprise, Matthew tangled his hands into his jacket and looked up at him with these big, pleading eyes that just about tore his heart apart. Arthur used his free hand to ruffle those soft curls. 

“No, Daddy,” his child whined, “We wanna make a pillow tent like we do at home. You know, on the bed,” Alfred tugged on his collar a little, “with the blankets as a ceiling and-and the pillows as walls.”

Normally, he would have no problem with building his famous ‘pillow-tent’ for the children. They loved pretending to be outside camping. (Arthur had neither the knowledge nor the desire to go camping in the wild. With his luck, they’d attract bears or bees or anything else that could potentially kill them.) He enjoyed making his son happy, but if he made a pillow-tent for the children, that meant he would have to share a bed with Francis. 

The elevator seemed eerily quiet as Arthur’s brain exploded at the idea of being forced to share a bed with the damned frog. No. He already regretted the one time they slept together. It had been terrible enough that he didn’t want a repeat. (Or so he told himself and he certainly didn’t stroke himself to the memories of that time.) He certainly wasn’t going to give the man a chance to corner him into doing something he didn’t want to do. Like, you know, talking about their failed relationship. 

No. If he allowed this to happen, he’d have to man up with Francis. He was perfectly content just ignoring the big, festering wound of their relationship until the metaphorical limb fell off. “Alfie,” he cooed to his son, shifting him onto his hip as the elevator slowly ticked to their floor, “I’m sure Matthew wants to sleep with his Papa. It’s a strange, unfamiliar place! You would both be more comfortable with us than all alone, right? It’ll be so dark and we didn’t bring your nightlight.” He certainly wasn’t proud of it when he played on his own child’s fear of the dark, but sacrifices had to be made in this instance. 

He thought his plan was working when his son’s face clouded over with fear. In the end, it was little Matthew peeping up with an enthusiastic ‘I wanna sleep with Al, Papa’ that crumbled all of Arthur’s carefully laid plans. Francis – the weak, cowardly frog – caved rather quickly to the demands of his child. 

Not for the first time that day, Arthur wondered if this entire operation was worth the money. In the end, he relented. They had a busy morning the next day and he’d rather not spend his evening corralling upset children. They’d already have to get up early the next morning. The competition was being held in another hotel across town, but they’d decided to stay away from the main action so Matthew wouldn’t have to spend extra time as ‘Matilda’. That meant they would need to fix ‘Matilda’s’ hair and make-up before ever leaving the hotel. It was going to be an interesting morning. 

Arthur was in charge of getting the children’s outfits ready for the next morning. He parked himself in the corner with the ironing board and a small sewing kit. Normally, this would be one of the most challenging parts of the competition because Alfred wasn’t very good at waiting patiently. Except this time, he had Francis. The Englishman found himself shocked (and a little impressed) when the other man volunteered to take the boys to the pool. That little reprieve gave him nearly two hours of quiet time to put the final touches on their outfits. 

It was fucking perfect. 

Not only did he manage to get the outfits finished, but also he constructed the ‘pillow-tent’ on the second bed. By the time the boys returned, Arthur had supper waiting for them. (He ordered pizza for himself and the little ones, but broke down for a nice salad for Francis. The frog did deserve a reward, after all.) Once all had showered and ate, Arthur realized with growing dread that sharing a bed with Francis was an undeniable reality. There was no escape, unless he decided the floor was a better option. 

Looking at the floor (covered in dirt and filth, mind you), well, there was no way that was going to happen. In the end, after the boys were snoring softly and the lights had been turned off, Arthur found himself hugging the edge of the bed. He could feel Francis’ warmth close to him. Every sigh and turn of his body sent Arthur’s nerves tingling. Ugh, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep like this. 

“Why are you so tense?” Francis’ whisper cut through the silence. “It’s like sleeping next to a board.” 

Arthur grumbled as he rolled onto his side and as far away from Francis as possible. “I don’t want any part of you touching me.” The exasperated sigh was almost enough for him to crack a smile. Even in this, he loved causing the Frenchman trouble. “Just stay on your side and fall asleep.”

Francis continued to shift, which only further drew Arthur’s ire. He responded with a sharp kick to the man’s shin. “Fuck,” the Frenchman cursed. Arthur may have thought he’d won, but quickly he felt the back of the man’s elbow jammed into his shoulder. 

The motion started a strange fight between the two. Arthur boldly flopped over with as much strength (and silence) as he could muster in order to grasp the man’s shoulders. They wrestled in the bed. Both grunting behind tightly sealed lips and concealing hisses of pain as sharp knees and elbows hit tender places. 

Arthur wanted to end it with swift headlock, but as his hands grabbed the back of the man’s head his body seemed to react the exact opposite of his brain. Instead of pressing the air out of his throat, he stole his breath in another way. He tugged Francis into a particularly heated kiss. 

When they both finally pulled away, neither had words for each other. In fact, Arthur flopped back on his side and ignored the soft sigh of the man behind him. 

It was too late for this bullshit.


	4. Ultimate Grand Supreme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of his hard work was going to pay off. They were going to win the $50,000 and return home victorious. What was the worse that could happen?

It was eerily quiet between the adults the next morning as Arthur prepared the children. Matthew and Alfred spent the entire morning filling the hotel room with endless chatter, but the silence between the two adults stood like a wall between them. Neither made an effort to even grunt at each other. Thankfully, their attitudes were completely ignored by the excited children. 

“Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy,” Alfred chanted mercilessly as he pranced around in his socks and freshly pressed oxford shirt. Arthur didn’t trust his child around anything white, but the creamy color of the shirt looked so cute underneath the charcoal fabric of his little suit. His handsome boy was going to break all the hearts when he was older. “Daddy!” 

When he finally could not take the chatter anymore, Arthur scooped his rambunctious child into his arms to trap him there. “You’re going to wrinkle your shirt.” 

His blessedly helpful child attempted to soothe the nonexistence wrinkles with his hands. “I’ve got them!” 

“You certainly did,” Arthur responded with a slight roll of his eyes. He was glad his child didn’t understand sarcasm yet, because his feelings would be hurt on a daily basis. Arthur’s second language was sarcasm and Alfred often found himself the unknowing victim of his father’s sharp tongue. He pressed a kiss to the top of that wild hair, nudging him towards Francis so the man could ‘fix’ it. “Be good for Francis.”

“I will,” Alfred chirped as he skipped over to tug on the Frenchman’s leg, babbling to him in the few French words the boy knew. Matthew was going through the process of teaching Alfred some French, so he wouldn’t get left out of their conversations. Arthur steeled himself against the overwhelming desire to scold Alfred for speaking the Frog’s language. He’d always promised himself that he wouldn’t stand in the way of Alfred wanting to learn, even if it included hearing the croaking coming from his baby’s own tongue. 

“Matthew, poppet, come here,” he called out as he grabbed his pins to adjust the fit of the boy’s dress. His wig had already been secured onto his head, which had been an experience in itself. Turns out, Matthew couldn’t stand having his hair brushed. The tugging to his sensitive little scalp had the child kicking and screaming in a way that rivaled Alfred’s worse fit. Even now, he still felt like they were walking on eggshells around the boy because his face would scrunch up and his eyes water every so often. “We just need to adjust your hem.” 

The boy walked over with a pout on his face and stood on the little footstool Arthur used to hem Alfred’s clothes. It gave him the perfect height to fix the little imperfections, not that there were many, after all. Matthew’s dress was nearly perfect. (Arthur had made it, after all.)

He’d chosen a lavender cupcake dress to make Matthew’s eyes ‘pop’ during the competition. His naturally pale skin, chubby-pink cheeks, and violet eyes would stand out against the bundles of lavender tulle wrapped around his body. Since Arthur had a flair for the dramatic, he even included a little train that swooped down the back and barely caressed the floor while the boy walked. It would make a lovely visual effect as Alfred ‘escorted’ Matthew – err- Matilda across the stage. 

To complement the lavender of Matthew’s dress, Alfred’s tie would match the soft lavender and his pocket would include a sprig of lavender tulle from the train of the dress. Arthur was rather proud of the little grey and white accents he sewed into Matthew’s dress. With such an unusual color swatch, he knew they would be a unique sight on the stage. 

With the last hem finished on Matthew’s dress (and any imperfections nixed from Alfred’s suit), the four were ready to travel to the competition. The pageant was being held in the hotel across the street, but instead of renting a room there both parents agreed it would be safer if they stayed elsewhere. No one needed a guest to point out they had two little boys on check-in day. 

“Okay,” he clapped his hands together as Francis spritzed Matthew with a bit of perfume and fluffed up his wig as gently as possible. The noise captured all of their attention, but most specifically the attention of the children. He knelt down to Alfred’s level, trying to keep a stern face as his baby boy wrapped his arms around his neck. 

“How do I look, Daddy?” He gave a little wiggle that dared to melt Arthur’s cold heart. 

“Lovely, duck, but I need you to listen very carefully.” As much as he wanted to cuddle with Alfred, he knew they needed to be serious. He looked into those blue eyes with a firm line on his face. “You have to use the name ‘Matilda’ today. Matilda is your sister and you’re going to be a great big brother. Do you understand?” 

“I’m going to be a great big brother,” Alfred parroted back with a lovely, mischievous grin. “Can Matthew be my brother, too? I would be the best big brother ever, then.” 

Arthur sputtered at the question, but decided he was too drained to answer. Instead, he popped a kiss on Alfred’s cheek and nudged him to take Matthew’s hand. “They’re ready, Frog.” He rubbed his hands over his face as he stood up from the floor with an exaggerated groan. (His knees popped too many times to be healthy.) They had about forty minutes before the start of the competition, so Arthur grabbed his bag of extra supplies and had them all out of the room with plenty of time to spare. 

That time came in handy, too, because when they got to the check-in booth they forgot one very important detail about registration. 

“Okay,” Mrs. My-Hair-Is-Big-Enough-To-House-A-Small-Family chirped at the men with an overly sweet Southern drawl, “looks like your fee and paperwork is in order. We just need to verify Matilda’s birth certificate. Then the little darlings can step into line.” 

The Englishman knew he looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, because neither of them remembered the birth certificate. In fact, one glance at Francis told the man that he looked just as scolded and stressed. “Birth certificate?” The Frenchman questioned, coughing and clearing his throat as he tossed a desperate glare Arthur’s way. “Do..do we have it?” 

It was this moment that would start a chain of events that would lead to Arthur nearly getting arrested. He should have given up at this point. He should have told the Frog ‘no’, bundled up Alfred, and returned home. Instead of doing the right thing, his big-fat-stupid mouth opened and a jumble of word vomit spewed into the space between them. “Of course, love!” He heard himself insisting, “I probably have it in my bag still. We’ll be right back,” he nudged the children towards the hallway farthest away from the check-in table. 

He didn’t look back until he couldn’t see the woman’s big hair and nearly sank to his knees as he pressed his back against the wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he cursed.

“Daddy! That’s a bad word!” 

“Daddy is sorry, poppet.” Arthur soothed over for that disappointed face, making another apology to the equally disappointed boy in a tulle dress. (Fucking kids and their guilt trips, man.) “Daddy is just stressed.” 

“What are we going to do?” Francis hissed as he peered around the wall to see the check-in table crowding up with more contestants. “I’m not forging a birth certificate, Arthur. We could go to federal prison. I’m too pretty for prison.” 

“I’m aware, idiot.” Arthur exploded on the man, teeth grinding as he shoved Francis’ shoulder. “I’m not stupid. Just..just..let me think a minute. Let me think.” He paced the length of the hallway for a few seconds and ignored the watch ticking on his wrist. They were running out of time. If they didn’t find out a solution quick enough, there wasn’t going to be a pageant. He growled in frustration. After coming all the way here, listening to both children screech for hours, and kissing the fucking Frog, they were going to come up empty. He groaned as he shoved his hands against the wall in frustration and nearly found himself face planting into the floor. 

“You okay, Daddy?” Alfred’s loud voice carried down the hall, followed by the sound of three sets of feet hurrying to him. 

Arthur was okay, but he felt defeated. He wanted to just lie there on the floor, but a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and brought him to his feet. He was thankful to those hands, even if he hated the man attached to them. “I’m fine,” he grumbled as he jerked away from Francis and wiped the dirt off his chest. “I’m just…” he trailed off as he glanced at the opened door in front of him and realized it was an entrance to the service hallway. “Francis, I think I just found our way in.” 

XXX

It only took a quick glance at the service map to navigate their way through the hallways. Luckily for the little group, they were able to make it into the main ballroom without being caught. Arthur practically sank into the first chair he found as they enter the ballroom. “I can’t believe we made it.” 

“I didn’t have many doubts,” Francis responded as he accepted the chair closest to Arthur. “You’ve always been remarkable when you need to think on your feet. I admire that in you.” 

Arthur scrunched his nose up, shoving Francis with his hand. “Don’t get sappy on me now. We can handle a few more hours of being together, then it’s back to the status quo.” 

Francis was quiet, but Arthur could tell that he was looking in his direction. It made him want to hit him again. “What if,” the frog interrupted the quiet, “I don’t want to go back to status quo. What if I want something more? We make a good team, Arthur.” 

As much as his heart thundered loudly in his chest, Arthur wasn’t going to let himself fall for those sugary-sweet words. He set his chin with a firm shake of his head. “Leave it be. It’ll never work.” If Francis wanted to continue the conversation after that, Arthur wouldn’t know because he suddenly realized that their children didn’t have a set of bright, blue numbers designating their order of appearance. He felt like cursing again, but he was positive Alfred would demand he wash his mouth out if he said ‘fuck’ one more time. “We’ve got a problem, frog. Numbers. We don’t have any numbers.”

“Shit,” Francis cursed as he sat up straighter in his chair and searched the room. “Do you think you could make them? Your bag had a bit of construction paper in there.” 

No, it wouldn’t work. No matter how much construction paper he used, they wouldn’t look like those numbers. “We’ll have to swipe them from behind the desk. Our forms are up there, too.” Arthur grabbed Francis’s shoulder and tugged him in close. “You distract her and I’ll grab what we need to grab, okay? I am not leaving here a failure. I have fought too damn hard to get them here and we’re not backing down.” 

Arthur noticed a strange look in the Frenchman’s eyes, but refused to comment on it. (He’d seen it a few times while they were dating. It usually appeared right before Francis gave him the fucking of a lifetime.) Operation-distract-pageant-director-with-the-crazy-wig was a go and he needed to keep his wits about him. 

They told the boys to remain where they were before slipping towards the big double-doors leading into the main lobby. With a quick nod, Arthur separated from the man and crawled along the wall to inconspicuously watch as Francis poured on the charm. It was strange to see him work. He gushed over her wig, complimented her make-up, and even bent down to admire her shoes. (It was actually quite humorous to see him compliment those ugly shoes. Francis would probably need to repent to the fashion gods later.) All the while, the handsome, smooth-talking foreigner stole her attention, Arthur slipped to the large boxes beside her table to dig for their packet. 

There had to be over one hundred candidates at the hotel, which made looking for his scrawling handwriting a little more difficult. Not to mention, he was racing against the attention span of a middle age woman. Eventually she would get suspicious if Francis kept returning to the same topics and complimented her ugly shoes too many times. He peeked up a few times from his hiding spot to see the Frenchman lean against the table with a lovely smirk on his face. Idiot, Arthur thought fondly as he tossed another useless packet. It was blissful celebration when he finally managed to find his handwriting scrawled across the top. 

He hissed out a soft ‘yes’ before grabbing the appropriate paperwork and their numbers. With his prize in hand, Arthur backtracked as quickly as possible. He thought about leaving Francis to wallow in his misery, but even he wasn’t that coldhearted. He whistled sharply to draw the man’s attention and watched with hidden glee as he stumbled over himself to disappear from the woman’s side. 

Arthur snickered as he returned to the boys to pin their numbers to their outfits and pressed the information sheet for Francis to ‘give’ to the judges. (In actuality, Francis was going to drop the sheet onto the table and the judges would file it in the proper area. Sure enough, he watched with unabashed joy as the sheet ended up exactly where it was supposed to be.) 

With all of his catastrophes averted, the Englishman leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, closed his eyes, and planned to wait patiently as possible for the start of the pageant. He didn’t even mind as Francis leaned closer to him and subtly slipped his hand against Arthur’s own. Why fight it at this point? He was far too exhausted to do anything other than let it be. He simply returned to gesture with a subtle squeeze of his hand. Blatantly staring forward as if to not even acknowledge the man’s presence. 

“Alfred and Matilda are number 21 and 22,” Francis interrupted his peace. Really, Arthur wanted to murder him at this point, but the hand against his own softened those desires. “They’re starting to line up their age group.” 

Even though he didn’t have the energy, Arthur stood up with a soft grunt and knelt down in front of the children to give them a pep talk. “You’re both going to do great up there! Remember, this is just your glitz introduction. We’ll change into your costumes afterwards.” 

“I can be James Bond again?” 

“You can be James Bond again,” Arthur responded with a grin as he kissed Alfred’s cheek and pressed a kiss to Matthew’s forehead. “Both of you are lovely. Go on now,” he nudged them across the room and let out the gigantic breath he’d been holding. “This might be our last pageant. I can’t handle this stress.” 

“Me too, mon ami, me too.” Francis’ agreement was unusual. He sounded just as tired and defeated as Arthur. “All they have to do is walk across that stage and we’re almost home free.” 

As much as Arthur wanted to hold onto those positive words, he knew the biggest battle was just coming. If they wanted that $50,000, then the boys would have to charm everyone on the judging panel, which included the big-wig-lady from the front desk. It was stiff competition, too. Many of the siblings were in perfect sync or looked like little porcelain dolls. 

Arthur had bitten through all of his nails as he watched Alfred and Matthew step closer to the stage. He didn’t feel like his heart could handle it by the time the announcer called out ‘Alfred and Matilda Bonnefoy-Kirkland.’ (He was still a little sore over losing the quarter toss for his name to go first on their forms.) 

All of that nervousness seeped from his body as he grabbed Francis’ hand and leaned forward to watch their babies. Alfred was such a perfect little gentleman as he held out his arm for Matthew and carefully adjusting her train as he walked for the judges. He kept up that bright smile as he stood there dutifully and waited for his ‘sister’ to complete her circuit. It was all going so perfect. 

No hiccup. No distraction. Fuck, not even a disgruntled pout on Matthew’s face as his train got caught on the edge of the stage. Arthur’s heart was full to bursting with pride. So much so, that he stood up to clap as the two children returned to center stage for their final walk-through. 

It was around the second turn that the judge’s table became abuzz with activity. The pageant director stood up from the table to pass a note to the announcer. Arthur’s hands stilled as all eyes whipped over to the nervous-looking man and his white note. “Umm, never had this happen before folks, but…umm.. Alfred and Matilda Bonnefoy-Kirkland are disqualified for failing to provide proper paperwork.” 

Arthur doubted the children knew what ‘disqualified’ meant, which explained why they were still on the stage with large smiles. They were waiting for their cues to leave, but it never came as the announcer slipped between whispering to the judges and reassuring the attendants. When the children hadn’t moved off the stage in time, the pageant director stomped onto the stage and attempted to shoo them off by grabbing Alfred’s shoulder. 

Like a Mama-bear running to protect her cubs, Arthur jumped up to protect his children. Except, his legs were no match for Francis. The Frenchman was on the stage before anyone could make a sound, physically putting himself between the woman and the children. “I don’t know who you think you are, but no one lays a hand on my children.” 

Honest to god, it was the hottest thing Arthur had ever seen. If he had been a woman, his ovaries would have burst at the impressive sight of the Frenchman protecting the children with his long, lithe body. English escaped him, but his legs moved forward to usher the nearly-hysterical children off the stage. “Gah,” he grunted as he tried to retain the use of his tongue, “Al, Matt, poppets, come here.” 

Matthew’s make-up was a mess. Alfred’s tie was unraveling. Francis was red-faced and furious. He and the woman were practically screaming at each other over pageant regulations and rules. They were being accused of everything underneath the sun, which the Frenchman enthusiastically denied at every turn. While Arthur stood there trying to calm everyone down with gentle words and soft pats on the back. “Francis, let’s go. It’s a lost cause.” If he could just get everyone off the stage, they could go home. “Francis!” He shouted out one more time, throwing his hands into the air and subsequently knocking Matthew’s wig to the floor. 

The fighting amongst the adults went silent. Arthur watched in slow motion as the wig dropped to the floor and spit bobby pins across the stage. He glanced up at Francis’ fearful face and turned over to glance at the victorious face of the pageant director. There was nothing else they could do at this point. He furiously waved the Frenchman to his side. “We have to go, now!” That’s all it took for the Frenchman’s brain to start working again as the woman screeched that they would be blacklisted from all future competitions. Arthur didn’t give a fuck. 

He growled at the woman with the ferocity of a jungle cat before grabbing Francis by the lapels of his jacket and tugging him down into a deep, furious kiss. Fuck her. Fuck this entire pageant. Without even caring about the roomful of children, Arthur flipped her off around the same time he shoved his tongue down Francis’ throat. 

It would have been sweet, sweet revenge if his giggling son hadn’t tugged on the leg of his trousers. “Daddy, does this mean Mattie is my brother now?” 

Fuck it all. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

(Ten years later) 

Alfred and Matthew were acting strange today. Not only had the two teenagers gotten up with the sun, they’d both done their chores without a single complaint. Normally, it was miserable trying to get both of them into their morning routines on a Saturday. Neither seemed to enjoy taking out the trash or cleaning up their rooms. 

Maybe it had something to do with the set at Tonio’s tonight? Though it had been nearly ten years since he began playing at the club, Arthur still took a slot between ten and eleven on the weekends. It kept him young and gave the family something to do together. 

Though, Arthur suspected that Alfred’s reasons for going weren’t as wholesome as he wished them to be. Francis suspected their son had a crush on one of the bartenders, Ivan. Ivan was a sweet, intelligent young man, but nearly nineteen. Arthur wasn’t letting his baby anywhere near a grown man. Why couldn’t he have a sensible love interest, like Matthew’s friend from the gardening club, Able? Arthur was beginning to enjoy the never-ending supply of tulips at their house. 

That could be it, but it didn’t explain Francis’ strange behavior, either. Instead of taking the boys to school yesterday, they’d all skipped school and work for a ‘mental health’ day. Arthur thought it was ridiculous. (Not to mention, he was a little hurt that no one informed him of the day. He would have loved to have been invited, or at least told about it. He didn’t find out until Matthew’s hockey coach and Alfred’s football coach – turns out, Alfred made a great goalkeeper- told him they hadn’t shown up to practice.) 

Not to forget, they weren’t even riding with him to Tonio’s! He was alone once more. He grumbled to himself like an old man as he picked up his guitar case and loaded up the car. The drive to Tonio’s hadn’t changed over the last few years. At least he had his own car now. Since getting together with Francis, they both had a bit more extra money. (Turns out, sharing rent and utilities means you have more money to afford luxury items like cars.) 

The drive to Tonio’s did make him a little nostalgic. He almost wanted to look into the backseat to see a five-year-old Alfred grinning at him with an action figure in one hand. Arthur chuckled at himself, pulling into the familiar parking lot for the thousandth time. With his guitar case in hand, Arthur used his key to get into the back door and maneuvered his way through the tiny hallway until he was nearing the stage. It was pitch black, which wasn’t unusual. Antonio and Lovino didn’t get here until much later. 

He flipped the lights in the main room and was momentarily blinded by the lights kicking on. When he finally blinked the spots from his eyes, Arthur found himself staring at a single rose sitting atop his favorite stool. Snorting at the silly thing, he placed his guitar on the stage and walked over to pick it up. He blinked as he found a ring nestled in the petals of the flower. “What?” 

Suddenly, he heard movement all around him. From the corner of his eye he could see the eager face of his son peering up at him from the barroom floor with Matthew right beside him. Antonio and Lovino were sitting near the edge of the barroom with the rest of the workers not far from them. He couldn’t see anything behind that because the longhaired Frenchman kneeling in front of him stole his attention. 

“Marry me,” was all Francis asked of him, but boy, that was a dozy of a question. 

He peered around the place that supported him, helped him grow, raised his child, and guided him towards the only man he’d ever loved. Was he ready to take this new step in his life? Was he ready to welcome Francis as his husband? 

“Get up and kiss me, Frog.” 

It was like his words were the moment everyone was waiting for as hoops and hollers echoed around the building as Francis stood up to pull Arthur into a kiss. Their children scrambled onto the stage for a big hug. Matthew and Alfred were beside themselves with happiness as they wrapped their parents into a hug. 

All of this happiness was too much for Arthur’s cold heart. If they didn’t watch it, he would lose his ‘grumpy old man’ status. In the end, it was Matthew that broke up the love fest with a mischievous grin. “Does this mean Alfred gets to wear the dress this time?” 

“Mattie!” 

With the scuffle breaking out between his boys, Arthur just shook his head and proceeded to snog his fiancé.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finished. I adored writing this story! I think I'm going to focus a bit more on the paternal relationship between Alfred and Arthur in my next few stories. I'm trying to finish up my unfinished stories before working on new ones. Sometimes it just can't be helped, though. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and remember to review!


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